


Where it Keeps its Brain

by DaronwyK



Series: What if... HP Drabbles & Short Stories [29]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, F/M, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-04-26 02:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14392668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaronwyK/pseuds/DaronwyK
Summary: What if Hermione, and not Harry found Tom's Diary?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> May be continued if there is enough interest. I cannot stress the warning about Major Character Death, proceed at your own risk.

**o.o.O.o.o**

_February, 1993_

 

Hermione had meant to turn it in, honestly, but there was something about the plain, black diary that seemed to draw her. She’d dried it out and then tucked it into her trunk, determined to turn it in first thing in the morning. Somehow though, the little black book managed to slip her mind until she found herself in the library after classes that day. She ran her thumb over the simple embossing on the cover, **_T. M. Riddle_** , and a strange shiver went down her spine as she touched it. Flipped through the yellowed pages, she found it strange that there wasn’t anything written in it. Something about the blank pages were practically begging to be written upon, to be filled with her thoughts. Hermione had never kept a diary, some small part of herself worried that someone might read it and expose her inner thoughts and fears to ridicule.

 

‘You’re a witch now, there are spells for that,’ she mused to herself, considering the little book. She didn’t recognize the last name of the student, so odds were this book had been lost quite some time ago. Could it really hurt to keep it? Her little secret. Mind made up, Hermione tucked the little book safely into her book bag and completed her essay on the function of fluxweed in polyjuice potion for Professor Sprout.

 

Only that night, inside her drawn bed curtains, did Hermione pull out the little black diary. She dipped her quill into a pot of deep, sapphire-blue ink, and she jotted the date down in the top corner, only to have the ink disappear into the page. She frowned deeply, a little furrow appearing between her eyebrows. This time she wrote her name, finishing with an elegant little curl.

 

_Hello Hermione Granger, my name is Tom Riddle._

Hermione nearly dropped her quill in shock, torn between responding and throwing the book as far away from her as she could. It couldn’t hurt to try and learn more…could it? So this time she wrote, **‘What exactly are you, Tom?’**

 

_A memory that has been preserved in this diary for nearly fifty years, if the date you wrote was accurate. How did you come across my diary, Miss Granger?_

Hermione’s curiosity was roused, the darkness and privacy of her bed emboldening her. Her quill danced across the page, telling him how she’d found it abandoned in a girl’s lavatory, waterlogged. She did apologize for what clearly had to be quite an indignity.

 

_A strange place to be discovered indeed. Thank you for take the trouble to dry me out and keep me from further damage. I must admit that I didn’t realize how lonely it would be when I created this object. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had anyone to truly talk to…in a manner of speaking. May I enquire as to what year you are in?_

  


**‘I’m in my second year,’** Hermione wrote, a little nervous as she answered his question.

_I would have thought you older, going by your penmanship & vocabulary. Clearly you take great care to form your thoughts carefully. Ravenclaw I assume?_

Hermione laughed a little to herself, feeling a kind of warmth as she answered Tom’s polite enquiries and asked a few of her own. She learned that he had been a student in Slytherin house, but that he had grown up in a muggle orphanage, only learning he was a half-blood during his second year at school. She’d confided in him her own blood status, worried when he did not reply for a long time.

 

_Muggle-born? Forgive me, your understanding of magical theory and history far outstrips what most muggle-borns I’ve known have ever cared to learn. You are clearly an exception to so many rules, Hermione. I do hope you continue to speak to me, despite my views on most others from your background. I’ve been alone so long, I believe I would enjoy talking more with you. Please say you’ll write to me again._

 

Hermione swallowed thickly and picked up her quill again and wrote a simple, ‘ **Yes** ’.

 

_Then I bid you good-night, and pleasant dreams. Until next time, Hermione._

**‘Good-night, Tom.’** Hermione made herself shut the diary and carefully put away her quill and ink. She placed the curious book in the drawer of her nightstand and carefully cast a basic ward on the drawer to protect the diary until morning. She would keep it with her, to protect it from being damaged or lost again. Tom seemed to be intelligent, and it was nice to have someone to talk to that she didn’t need to explain everything to. After all, if she didn’t like the things he was saying…she could just stop writing in it.

 

o.o.O.o.o

_June, 1993_

The months wore on with no further attacks, and the whispers about Harry being the Heir of Slytherin began to taper off, the threat seemingly gone. Hermione found herself writing to Tom each night before bed, as it had become a bit of a ritual for her. He’d ask about her day, and her friends…and debate things from her classes with her. It was wonderful to have someone that understood her.

 

**‘I’m not looking forward to the summer. I mean, of course I want to see my parents, but it’s a whole two months without magic. It’s not fair.’** She allowed herself to whine a little. Hermione tried not to do it often, imagining that being trapped in a diary for fifty some odd years meant that he had a much worse life than she did, but she truly hated leaving Hogwarts in the summer.

 

_You realize that the trace is tied to your wand? Any wandless magic is untraceable by the Ministry, and only truly large bursts of accidental magic will register in the under-aged sorcery department. If you take me with you, I can teach you how to use magic without your wand. It’s a very valuable skill to possess, and helping you learn is the least I can do after you’ve rescued me from decades of obscurity._

Hermione smiled, eyes lighting up at the prospect of learning something new. **‘Of course I’m bringing you home with me, I would never leave you behind. Isn’t wandless magic extremely difficult though?’**

_Only for the mundane, and you are extraordinary. I would be very much surprised if you couldn’t learn at least a few basic, handy little wandless spells. Perhaps we could start with something easy like lumos, or a summoning charm._

**‘I can’t wait.’** She felt so much closer to Tom than she did Ron and Harry these days. The two of them were so busy discussing Quidditch that they barely spared her a second thought, at least until it was time to prepare for exams. A little thread of resentment ran through her.

 

_How are your friends faring with their exams? I know you spent hours helping them prepare._

**‘Struggling, but I’m hardly surprised. Unless it’s about snitches or quaffles, getting their attention is something of a lost cause. Sometimes it feels like they only have time for me when they want something.’** She frowned, giving voice to something that had been bothering her for a while. She hated that Ron got most of Harry’s attention. They were together all the time, and she KNEW they were keeping secrets from her. Hadn’t she proved herself to them, stealing from Snape’s stores, lying to Lockhart to get the pass for the restricted section, and even brewing an illegal potion in a girl’s lavatory for one of their hare-brained schemes? **‘I do more for Harry than Ron does, and yet HE is the one that Harry always turns to first. I hate it.’**

_It’s not right that they ignore you, Hermione. You’re so much more special than the Weasley boy, you’re steadfast and understanding where he is jealous of Harry’s fame, and your intelligence. He’s nothing. Lower than the dirt on your shoes, and one day Harry will realize that. He’ll understand how foolish he was to trust the weasel, mark my words…one day Ron will betray you both and everything will finally be as it’s meant to. Remember, every time he taunts you for your intelligence it’s only out of jealousy. He will never be even a fraction as talented as you are, and he knows it. I’ll always be here for you, even when they are not. I promise you that, my clever little friend._

o.o.O.o.o

June 18th 1993

 

Gaining control of Hermione’s body had been somewhat more difficult than it had been to possess Ginny Weasley, but that was unsurprising to Tom. Over the months, he had come to learn much about the little mudblood that had found his Diary. Surprisingly, she had been a far more compatible conduit than the emotionally unstable eleven year old. He drew a robe over the girl’s pajamas and stole out of Gryffindor Tower on silent feet. They were leaving for the trains in the morning, and there was one little thing he needed to do.

 

His original plan had been to drain little Ginny of her life force to fuel his resurrection, but he was hesitant to do it with Hermione. She was far too intelligent and driven, too much like had been at that age. Like him, she had requested to take every possible elective for next year, and while he had warned her that the teachers would not allow it, he applauded her ambition. It was a trait so many Gryffindors lacked.

 

With his voice in her ear, he could turn Hermione into an asset that no one would ever see coming. Her innate insecurities and latent jealousy could be fanned carefully to drive her into the lure of the dark arts. With enough time and preparation, he could convince her to be the agent of his resurrection, and perhaps even find her a place at his side. Power was all that mattered, and this girl had plenty of it. He moved through the shadows in her borrowed form, silent as death. He found the quarters of that idiot Lockhart without much trouble, and using Hermione’s wand they dismantled the wards with ease. He’d have expected more from a Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, but considering the man was an obvious fraud, he supposed that he shouldn’t have been so surprised.

 

Lockhart was sleeping soundly in his bed. Tom cast a complicated sleeping spell, and then approached. He opened the Diary and laid it over the sleeping wizard’s chest and began to lay the transfer runes. In the matter of a few hours, Lockhart would be dead and he’d become more powerful. Influencing Hermione would take more power, and there would likely need to be several more deaths. Idly, he wondered if he could manipulate her jealousy of Ron Weasley to make her accept that Ron needed to die to ‘free’ her friend Tom from his diary ‘prison’. It would be a challenge…but Tom had always loved impossible tasks. It might take years, but he could be patient. He’d spent fifty years entombed in a forgotten book. For the perfect plan…he could bide his time.

 

By the time Lockhart was dead, his magic siphoned off into the diary, Tom’s plan was nearly set in his head. Jealousy was a wonderful little emotion. Everyone was guilty of it from time to time, and when fed properly it could be a powerful motivator. He’d turn Hermione into his weapon, his own little green-eyed monster, and in doing so he would be free.

 

o.o.O.o.o

September 19th, 1993

 

_Happy Birthday, Hermione._

**‘At least someone remembered,’** Hermione wrote, unable to help but feel a little bitter at her birthday passing unremarked, yet again, by Harry and Ron. Last year, he’d bribed one of the older students to get him sweets from Hogsmeade for Ron’s birthday, and she hadn’t even gotten card. It wasn’t FAIR.

 

_Boys can be so thoughtless. I do have something of a gift for you though. Sadly, trapped in a Diary all I can offer is knowledge, but I think this particular secret might be something you would truly enjoy. There is a place on the seventh floor, just across from the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. Pace up and down that spot three times, thinking about needing a quiet place to study. Write back once you’ve found the secret room._

Hermione frowned a little, but tucked the diary into her book bag and she ghosted out of Gryffindor Tower, no one even looking up as she passed through the room. Her time turner was tucked securely under her jumper. Tom had been stunned when she’d told him about the time turner, and scoffed at the supposed rules she was meant to follow. He’d noted that the possibilities were nearly limitless for her. She could rewind whole days and just devote them to studying topics of her choice and no one would ever be the wiser. She could do just about anything she wanted, so long as she was careful. Between the two of them they devised a cunning little schedule that would maximize her time and yet keep anyone from getting too suspicious.

 

She reached the tapestry and she began to pace, thinking about what she needed. Tom had said to think about a quiet place to study, and then suddenly a door appeared out of nowhere. Hermione reached out and turned the handle, and was led into a room out of her dizziest daydreams. There was a beautifully carved mahogany desk with a comfortable chair sitting in front of a steadily burning fire. The walls were lined with books, and the desk had a supply of parchment, ink, and quills. There were also comfortable chairs and sofas for curling up to read in. She sat at the desk and pulled out the Diary.

 

**‘Tom, this is incredible. No one else knows about this?’** She was in awe.

 

_I learned about it from the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, Helena Ravenclaw. She only shares this secret with those that have a true need. I’d advise keeping this place a secret, you never know when you might need somewhere to hide. This room can be anything you need it to be, and there is also another part of this place, called the Room of Forgotten things. To access it you need to think about needing a place to hide something while you pace in front of the tapestry. I’ve never told anyone else about this place. Happy Birthday, Hermione._

**‘Thank you, Tom. It means a lot to me that you’d trust me with this secret.’** She stroked her fingers over the pages. The summer had been amazing, and under Tom’s unique tutelage she’d begun learning to use her magic without relying on her wand. The way he’d explained everything just made so much sense, and she’d been able to learn the lighting charm, summoning charm, and even the banishing charm. He’d told her the next step was learning to do them non-verbally as well, but explained it would take much more practice before she mastered it.

 

_You trust me with yours, it only seems fair that I return the favour. Enjoy the books, there are things on these shelves that you won’t even find in the restricted section._

And lose herself in the room Hermione did. So much so, that she ended up having to use the time turner that morning just to get some sleep. The secret study room became a growing addiction of hers, and she found herself pouring everything she had into the books on the shelves, encouraged by Tom to take as much advantage of the time-turner as she could. She was so busy that she even managed for a time to forget her jealousy of Ron, and ignore his petty digs at her familiar. He was insignificant compared to her, and his opinion matter nothing at all. If Crookshanks ate Scabbers, it would serve the idiot right for not keeping his rat properly contained. It would probably be a blessing for the diseased old thing, a quick death at the jaws of her cat than continuing to linger on as Ron’s pet. She suppressed a shudder just thinking of it.

 

o.o.O.o.o

December 26th, 1993

 

Hermione was crying, alone in her dorm. She wrote everything down into the Diary about how horrible Ron and Harry were being to her. All because she’d rightfully reported the mysterious Firebolt to Professor McGonagall. She’d given up Christmas with her parents to stay here and keep Harry company and he wouldn’t even speak to her, spending all his time with Ron playing exploding Snap and Wizards Chess. Her tears splashed down on the page of the diary, leaving little wet spots on the paper.

 

_Hermione, are you crying?_

**‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just wanted to protect him…doesn’t he understand that the broom could have come from Black and been cursed?! I did the right thing and now it’s like first year all over again.’**

_I…are you alone?_

**‘Yes, why?’**

_I think I’m strong enough to do this, just don’t scream ok. This has to remain our secret._

A moment later, a boy appeared beside her bed. He was wearing Slytherin robes, and had black hair and dark blue eyes. He was unbelievably handsome as he stood there. He looked to be a handful of years older than her, and there was a look of trepidation and concern on his features.

 

“Tom?” Hermione said, wiping at her tears.

 

“It’s me,” he said and came closer, sitting down on the edge of her bed. He reached out and touched her hand, nearly gasping at the feel of someone’s skin after so long. “I don’t know how long I can stay like this…but I didn’t want you to be alone.”

 

Hermione slipped her fingers through his. “Thank you,” she said, another tear slipping down her cheek.

 

Tom reached out and brushed it away tenderly. “You don’t deserve their scorn, you don’t deserve any of it,” he said. “One day they’ll see how wrong they were, and they’ll beg your forgiveness.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I promise you that,” he whispered, taking great care with her. She was so emotionally raw that he could feel the Horcrux connecting with her now on a level it hadn’t before. She was his now and he’d destroy anyone that tried to take her away from him.

 

Hermione blushed at the delicate kiss. “How are you able to be here?” she asked.

 

“Always so curious, it’s what I love about you,” Tom said. “I think the act of us conversing has made me…stronger, for lack of a better word. Magic is all about intent after all. You’ve always wanted to help me, and sensing how upset you are tonight I wanted to help you. I think that’s what’s allowing me to be here like this. You’re magically quite powerful, and so was I…it only makes sense that we would bond this way,” he said, skirting the truth neatly. She wasn’t ready yet to learn that he had killed Lockhart while possessing her body. In time she would…but not yet.

 

She nodded, biting her bottom lip as she considered it. “Whatever the reason, and somehow I think you know more than you’re telling me, I’m just glad you are here,” she said, her suspicions confirmed with his little grin. He moved to sit against her headboard and pulled her into a hug.

 

“Just rest tonight, and I’ll stay as long as I can. It’ll all be better in the morning, I promise,” he whispered into her wild curls. He breathed in deeply, realizing that she even smelled like power, like the dancing bite of wild electricity that made your hair stand on end. How did so much power get trapped in a mudblood’s body? It defied conventional knowledge. He wanted to storm down there and hex the two boys into oblivion for daring to make **_his_** witch cry. They had the gift of her friendship, her company, whenever they wished it and instead of treasuring her as she deserved…they belittled her, and squandered her love. He would have given anything to have her at his side all those years ago, someone on his own level. How dare they take her for granted?

 

o.o.O.o.o

June 11th, 1994

Tom lounged on the sofa in their ‘study room’, the picture of casual ease even if he was anything but today. There was a lot to digest from everything Hermione had told him about the preceding day’s adventure. He felt cold inside, knowing that his witch could have died, and he’d have been helpless to prevent it. Again, the unfamiliar threads of jealousy wrapped around his heart at the thought of Potter being the one at her side, Potter being the one to benefit from her cleverness and daring. Worse was the fact that it would always be Potter that would gain the accolades and recognition for Hermione’s brilliance. It rankled bitterly, but no…it wasn’t time yet to move. She was still too young, too naïve about the world. She needed to be disillusioned more yet, though the seeds were there just waiting to germinate. He finally sat up and walked over to where Hermione was pacing, ranting about the utter unfairness that Lupin was being forced to resign for something that wasn’t his fault.

 

Tom placed his hands on her upper arms and stopped her. “You could have died,” he said softly.

 

Hermione blinked, pulled out of her rant. “I didn’t though.”

 

“But you could have, so easily.” He swallowed. “Promise me you’ll be more careful. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

 

“I promise, Tom.” She nodded, meeting his eyes.

 

Tom could see the understanding of the danger she’d been in blossom in her eyes, the barest touch of legilimency letting him see that she finally realized how close death had been to her. “See that you do.”

 

o.o.O.o.o

 

August 26th, 1994

 

Hermione was racing through the campgrounds, separated from Harry and Ron. She ducked behind a concession stand and pressed herself against the wood, trying to make herself small enough to avoid detection. A hand touched her arm and she screamed, drawing her wand only to look into Tom’s face.

 

“Tom?”

 

“I could feel your fear,” he whispered, taking her hand and leading her away from the masked figures.

 

“I need to find the Weasleys and Harry,” she said. “We were separated in the rush.” At the mention of Harry and Ron, Tom gripped her hand tighter, the bones almost grinding together. “Tom, you’re hurting me!”

 

“Stop talking about THEM!” he all but hissed. “I need to get you away from here, they don’t matter, you do.” He pulled her close as another group passed by, and then they started running for the woods. He set a blinding pace, dragging her along behind him.

 

It was dark as pitch, and Hermione’s legs were screaming at her from the breakneck pace Tom was setting. Finally, he stopped and Hermione doubled over, gasping for breath. She could distantly hear the shouts and screams from the campground, but it was muted so they must have been well clear of it. She lifted her head and looked at Tom, unsure why he looked so completely furious.

 

“What’s wrong, Tom? Talk to me,” she said.

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he whispered, something like pain flashing through his eyes. “I never intended it to be like this. You have to believe me, Hermione.” He turned to face her fully. He needed to tell her the truth, all of it. “I…there’s something I need to tell you, and I know it might cost me your friendship…but you deserve to know.”

 

“Tom, there’s nothing you could say that would make me hate you.” She frowned, unsure what had prompted this. She knew Tom had secrets, but she respected him too much to pry.

 

“I’m far more than a memory, Hermione, and I know you’ve suspected that for a long time. In truth, I’m half of someone’s soul, a safeguard against death. It was always intended that if the main body was ever destroyed, that I could use the diary to leech power out of someone, and regain my physical form. The only problem was…I didn’t want to do that to you. So I found other ways, but they were not powerful enough to completely free me from the Diary. I was content to wait, until you’d had more time to understand the true nature of magic before I told you, but those men tonight…I fear that those men were acting in my name. You are too special to me to risk someone hurting you because of some twisted version of my ideology.”

 

“Those men were Death Eaters, they followed Lord Voldemort…not Tom Riddle. He was long after your time.” Hermione frowned, utterly confused.

 

“Lord Voldemort *is* my time…” He made a gesture with his hand and ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ was emblazoned in the night air in fiery letters. Another gesture rearranged them into ‘I am Lord Voldemort’.

 

Hermione’s knees gave out as she sank to the ground, shaking her head. “But you’re not *him*, you’re my friend…” She shook her head in denial.

 

“I am your friend, Hermione,” Tom said quietly. “But I also became Lord Voldemort. I don’t know how or why my desires became so twisted, corrupted from what I wanted when I made the diary…and I swear to you, I will do everything I can to make sure that my other self never hurts you. Please, just tell me that you won’t walk away from me.” He walked over and knelt in front of her, reaching out to touch her face. “Please Hermione…” Tom’s normally closed expression painfully raw and open in that moment.

 

Hermione leaned into the touch, and was about to respond when a twig snapped in the darkness. Hermione’s head spun, and her heart sank as Harry stepped out of the darkness. “Harry! H-how long have you been standing there?” Her heart was pounding wildly as fear for Harry, and fear for Tom warred in her chest.

 

“Long enough.” Harry had his wand drawn. “Get away from him Hermione, he has you bewitched.”

 

Hermione shook her head, “Harry you don’t understand. Please just let me explain.” She didn’t notice Tom slipping her wand out of her jacket.

 

“He’s Voldemort Hermione…don’t listen to him! He’ll promise you anything to get what he wants, but it’s just a lie,” Harry said, his tirade interrupted by a scream as pain blossomed through his body. White-hot agony lanced across his torso and his wand clattered to the forest floor.

 

Tom’s dark eyes were on fire as he stood, Hermione’s wand held elegantly in his hand. “No Potter, the only lie is the one you tell yourself about being her friend. The truth is that she’s just a tool you use when it’s convenient, but the moment she questions you…you cast her out, to teach her a lesson about her proper place in your little circle. I am the Dark Lord Potter, and to gain her favour I was on my knees before her, begging her forgiveness. That is friendship, that is love…something you don’t deserve from her.” He made another harsh slash with his wand, opening another vicious laceration on Potter’s torso.

 

“Tom, STOP! Please…” Hermione was crying, pleading with him.

 

“There is no other way Hermione, don’t try to interfere.” Tom looked over his shoulder at her, using a sticking charm to keep her in place. “No one can know I exist…Potter was a sad tragedy, killed by rogue Death Eaters.” He longed to cast Avada Kedavra and erase the boy from the face of this earth, but not with Hermione’s wand. No…nothing so overt. He grinned then, all of his jealousy over Potter’s closeness to Hermione bringing out his darker tendencies. Three more well placed cutting hexes and Potter quickly bled his life out into the forest floor. Only when the boy was pale and cold, did he look back at Hermione. Tom knew what he needed to do.

 

She had her eyes squeezed tight, her cheeks wet with tears. “Why….why Tom why?” She whispered softly while shaking her head in denial.

 

“Because he dared to claim a place in your heart, my sweet, powerful girl. That heart belongs to me, and me alone. I’ll kill anyone that tries to take your affections from me.” He leaned forward and gently kissed her, a dragon jealously admiring his hard-won hoard. “Shhhh now…it’ll all be better soon.” He soothed her and raised her wand. “Obliviate.” He stole the events of the night from her mind, she would remember running from the Death Eaters, and then a blissful nothingness. She’d have absolutely no recollection of his presence here tonight, or his real identity. His initial reactions had been right, she wasn’t ready. But with Potter’s life force added to the power he’d stolen from Lockhart, he would be able to leave the diary at will. He would take control of these Rogues and ensure the safety of his precious prize. He’d hunt down and destroy all other traces of his former self, leaving him the sole heir to Lord Voldemort’s glory. Tom had never been one to share, especially not power and certainly not Hermione.

 

 


	2. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many have requested a continuation... consider this my Halloween gift to you all.

**o.o.O.o.o**

**August 27, 1994**

 

Hermione came awake with a gasp, jerking up into a sitting position. Hands came to rest on her shoulders, and she was looking into the face of Arthur Weasley. There was something wrong, she could tell instantly. There was a tightness to his expression, a pinching around his eyes. Her eyes were drawn past him…to where a figure laid on the ground covered in a bloody sheet. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and she just knew that something truly horrible had happened.

 

“What happened? I…” Hermione whispered, her voice shaking a little.

 

“Step aside Weasley, she must be questioned.” A tall thin man said in a nasal voice.

 

“She’s just a girl, Barty,” Arthur said, but moved back a touch.

 

“What is your name?” The man pinned her with a look, his hand reflexively tightening around the wand he held against his thigh.  

 

“Hermione Granger, sir. Please, what’s happened? I remember running with the crowd, but then nothing,” she said, eyes darting between the men staring down at her.

 

“Where is your wand Miss Granger?” A dark-skinned wizard moved forward.

 

“I…” She checked her pockets only to find that her wand was gone. “My wand, someone’s taken it.” She felt a thread of fear wind through her. Why couldn’t she remember? Surely she would remember someone taking her wand, and how did she even get here. None of this looked familiar. She touched her temple, not liking the sensation rolling around in her head.

 

“Miss Granger, I’d like to try and determine what happened to your memory, if you will allow me?” The wizard asked, giving her a reassuring smile.

 

“Please…I need to know what’s happened.” She nodded.

 

The wizard looked deep into her eyes and then there was a strange sensation, like fingers digging inside her skull, at first it was just uncomfortable, but then it really started to hurt, and she cried out. She tried pulling away, but he held firm and the pain only grew.

 

“That’s enough, Kingsley.” Arthur protested, pulling the man back.

 

The sensation was gone and Hermione pitched forward, trying hard not to be sick from the intense pain in her head.  

 

“Forgive me, I needed to be certain.” The man responded, frowning a little at the blood now streaming from Hermione’s nose. He fished out a handkerchief and gave it to her. “You’ve been obliviated, no doubt because you witnessed the murder. It was done with a remarkable level of care and precision, they did no permanent damage that I can sense,” he said, before standing to speak to the adults. “She must have been disarmed and the perpetrator absconded with her wand, a minor crime in comparison to…” He trailed off, looking at the figure covered by the bloody sheet.

 

“Murder?” she whispered, looking fearfully at Mr. Weasley.

 

“Hermione, I’m so sorry…but it’s Harry,” he said gently, sorrow clear in his eyes.

 

“No…” She pulled away and tried to reach the covered figure, only to have strong arms wrap around her, pulling her away. “NO! I need to see him, it can’t be Harry.” She struggled against the wizard’s grip but was no match for his size and strength.

 

“You don’t want to see him like that, honey,” the man said and pulled her away. “Come on now, we’re going to take you to St. Mungo’s to get checked out. There’s nothing you can do here.”

 

Hermione sobbed as he dragged her away. It couldn’t be true…Harry couldn’t be dead. It had to be a mistake, someone that just looked a little like him. The man, Kingsley, didn’t let go of her and in short order they had been apparated to the wizarding hospital. She stopped fighting as he handed her over to the healers, and ordered them to run a full diagnostic and perhaps give her something to let her rest. Just as he was about to leave, she turned her head and looked at him.

 

“Who did this?”

 

“Death Eaters, or at least that’s what we believe. Former supporters of You-Know-Who,” he answered. “Just rest now, I’ll station an Auror outside your room as a precaution.” He tried to reassure her.

 

Hermione nodded, and just let the healers take care of her. When they handed her a vial of dreamless sleep, she simply swallowed it down obediently. As she laid back against the crisp white sheets, she desperately prayed that this was just some truly horrible dream. Silent tears streamed down her face, soaking into the pillow, until the potion carried her off into sleep’s embrace.

 

**o.o.O.o.o**

**August 28, 1994**

 

Hermione was sitting up in bed, having picked at the breakfast the healers had brought her, when the door to her room opened and Mrs. Weasley came in, her eyes rimmed in red. She came over to the bed and pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

 

“You poor child,” she whispered softly, stroking Hermione’s hair.  

 

“Please tell me it wasn’t him…it can’t be Harry.” Hermione pleaded with the older witch, needing it to all be a horrible mistake.

 

“I’m so sorry, but it was Harry,” Molly said sadly and moved back, tears on her own face. “The Healers said that you could leave today, and we’d very much like you to come to the Burrow, dear. You should be with friends right now, and I know you’ll want to attend the funeral.”

 

Hermione was shaking a little but nodded. “Thank you, I’d like that.” She managed to get the words out.

 

“If you want to get dressed, I’ll wait in the hall for you. We’ll stop in Diagon Alley first, you’ll be needing to replace your wand,” Molly said.

 

Hermione felt a fresh stab of pain in her chest at the reminder of her stolen wand. “They weren’t able to find it?”

 

“No, the woods and grounds were searched extensively, but it wasn’t found.” Molly looked quite sympathetic. “I’m very sorry dear, for all of it.”

 

Hermione nodded quietly, and when Molly slipped out of the room, she found her things folded up in the cupboard. She let out a tiny sigh of relief at the sight of Tom’s Diary still in her satchel, at least that hadn’t gone missing. One thing about that night puzzled her, why kill Harry and then leave her alive? If they really were supporters of You-Know-Who, why would they have spared a muggle-born witch…or stolen her wand? There had to be more to it than what she knew, some other reason they’d only obliviated her.

 

She freshened herself up as best she could and slipped out into the hall. Molly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and walked her out of the ward. Once they reached the area that housed the public floos, flashbulbs started going off and questions were being shouted at her from all angles. She just turned her head into Molly’s shoulder, trying to hide from it as the Weasley Matriarch shouldered through the reporters and got her to the floo.

 

Molly grabbed a pinch of powder and called out, ‘Diagon Alley’, and in a flash of green fire she was stumbling out of the floo in the Leaky Cauldron.

 

“Easy there, Miss.” It was the Auror from the other night that reached out and steadied her. “I’m to be your escort in the Alley today.”

 

“I’m sorry…I don’t remember your name?”

 

“Kingsley Shacklebolt, at your service Miss Granger.” He gave a slight nod, and then looked up as Molly stepped out of the floo.

 

“Ah Kingsley, good…let’s get Hermione to Ollivander’s and then back to the Burrow, poor thing looks paler than a packet of fresh parchment.” Molly said, fussing a bit.

 

“She’s been through an ordeal, hardly surprising.” Kinglsey said, and together the two adults escorted Hermione into Diagon Alley. There were looks and whispers as they moved along, and the normal bright colours and loud sounds were hushed, as if everyone was mourning the loss of Harry Potter.

 

Hermione entered the dusty wand shop, asking Molly and the Auror to wait outside. She needed to do this on her own.

 

“Ah, Miss Granger…sad business this.” Mr. Ollivander came forward, a look of honest compassion on his face. “The loss of a wand is a horrible thing, never mind when compounded with the loss of a dear friend.”

 

Hermione felt tears sting her eyes and she nodded. “It hurts,” she said quietly.

 

“It will for some time, but all wounds heal,” he said and gestured for her to follow him into the stacks. “On your first visit we didn’t go through the usual fitting, your wand was so very eager to meet you. But let’s perhaps start with this…” He pulled down a box and opened it for her, saying nothing.

 

She reached for it and the moment her fingers brushed the handle, she recoiled. “No…”

 

“I thought as much. No matter…continuing on,” he said and walked deeper, pulling box after box down. After nearly ten different wands, he frowned and dug deeper into the piles and came up with a battered black wand box. “Try this.”

 

The wand gleamed nearly bone white against the black satin, delicate whorls were carved into the handle and the vaguest etching of a dragon head formed the end. She slipped her fingers underneath and she felt power surging through her. She lifted it and smiled, flicking it and dozens of little butterflies conjured out of thin air.

 

“I think we’ve found your match, Miss Granger. Yew, twelve inches, with a core of dragon heartstring. A powerful wand to be certain and perhaps more fitting for your new path.” His pale blue eyes held sadness.

 

“How much do I owe you?” she asked.

 

“Nothing my dear, not today.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. “Just promise an old man, that you’ll be careful in the days to come?”

 

Hermione could sense some manner of warning in his words and she nodded. “Of course.”

 

“Good, now off you go,” he said

 

Hermione turned and stepped out into the street and nodded to Mrs. Weasley. “Sorry it took so long.”

 

“Nothing to be sorry for dear….goodness, Charlie took nearly three hours when he came to get himself a new wand after he finished school. These things just take time.”  

 

“Are you fine to apparate with her, Molly?” The Auror asked.

 

“Of course, thank you for the escort Kingsley,” Molly said and looked to Hermione. “Hold on tightly now,” she said and wrapped an arm around her securely, before popping them over to the Burrow.

 

Hermione felt a little unsteady after the bone-crushing sensation, but quickly got her bearings. “I really appreciate the offer to stay here…”

 

“Nonesense, you’re as welcome as any of my own. Now, let’s get inside and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea. Merlin knows you need one,” she said. The older witch was smiling, but it was clearly a hard effort to summon one.

 

Hermione mostly felt numb, but allowed herself to be guided inside. The normally cheery atmosphere of the burrow was somber, and Hermione felt like an intruder. Or at least she did, until the twins spotted her and went over to engulf her in a tight hug.

 

“Glad you’re ok, Granger,” Fred whispered against her left ear.

 

“When we saw you lying on the ground,” George whispered into her right ear.

 

“We’d thought we’d lost you too,” they whispered together.

 

Hermione wrapped her arms around them both and just held on tight. “I’m glad you guys are ok too,” she said back fiercely. They released her after another long moment, and she gave them a trembling smile. “Where’s Ron and Ginny?” She asked.

 

“Upstairs, come on. I’ll take you up. You help mum with lunch, Gred?” George nodded to his twin.

 

“Of course Forge.” He winked, his usual teasing falling a little flat today.

 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” George said as they walked up the steps together, his face strangely serious today.

 

“You don’t know that,” Hermione said softly. “I can’t remember anything, so I have no idea what actually happened. What if I was the one that led us into the woods and that’s why he was killed?” She stopped, looking up at the taller boy.

 

“The only one who is to blame is the Death Eater bastard that killed him. Not you,” George said. “Don’t ever think like that, Granger. You were his best friend, I know you would have fought tooth and nail to protect him.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be ok…not for a while, but one day.”

 

Hermione squeezed his hand back. “Thanks George.”

 

“Come on.” He tugged her up to Ron’s room where Ron and Ginny were sitting talking. Ginny’s eyes were swollen and puffy, making it clear that she’d been crying. Hermione knew her own eyes couldn’t look any better. Ron’s face was stony, his jaw set hard, and he didn’t lift his head when she came in.

 

“Hey Gin…” She managed to get out.

 

Ginny walked over and hugged her tightly. “He’s gone….” she whispered.

 

“I know…” Hermione said, feeling the tears falling from her eyes too, unable to stop it.

 

“’Course you do…you were there.” Ron’s cold voice cut through the room and Hermione lifted her head and looked at him.

 

“Ron…”

 

“No…I heard Dad talking about it. You were just unconscious, while Harry was lying there dead!” Ron said.

 

“I was obliviated and stunned, you prat.” Hermione felt her temper sparking.

 

“Oi, Ronnikins…watch your tone,” George said from the doorway.

 

“No! Harry’s dead and she didn’t do anything to stop it!” Ron shouted.

 

“And where were you, huh?” Hermione snapped back. “Where were you when Harry was getting killed and Merlin knows what was happening to me?”

 

“I..we got separated…I tried to find you.”

 

“Don’t you dare blame me for this, Ronald Weasley. I’m no more to blame than you are,” Hermione said and moved back. “Do you think it’s not killing me knowing that I was right there, and I can’t remember? I don’t even know who stole my wand, or why. It’s just blank and I’ll never get that memory back. Never.”

 

Ron dropped his head, looking chastised. “I’m sorry ‘Mione…I just…”

 

“I know it hurts…just don’t take it out on me,” Hermione said firmly.

 

“Mum said you were staying with us. Come on, we can get settled in my room,” Ginny said, eyes flicking between her brother and Hermione.

 

At her nod, Ginny took her up the hall to her bedroom, where a second bed and been transfigured for her. Hermione sat down on the edge of the bed and let out a shaky breath. “How many other people are going to blame me?” Hermione said.

 

Ginny sat beside her. “No one that matters. Don’t listen to Ron, he always says stupid things when he’s upset.”

 

Hermione just shook her head. Something inside was screaming at her that this was her fault, a burning sliver in the back of her brain. “Maybe I shouldn’t be here…” She yelped as Ginny pinched her, hard. “OW! What was that for?”

 

“For saying something stupid.” Ginny gave her a look. “We all loved Harry and that makes us family. You’re exactly where you should be.”

 

Hermione nodded and let go of a breath. “Sorry…I just wish I could remember what happened. Even something small about who did this.”

 

“Maybe its better you don’t.” Ginny gave her an almost pitying look. “Do you really want to remember watching him die?” Tears shimmered in Ginny’s brown eyes.

 

Hermione shook her head and pulled Ginny into a tight hug. “No…no I don’t.”

 

Ginny pulled back and wiped her eyes. “I’m going to go and see if mum needs any help with lunch, just take a few minutes and get settled. Dad put your trunk just over by the window,” she said.

 

Hermione nodded, and once Ginny had left the room, she carefully pulled out the Diary and set up her quill and ink. As she opened it, the pages were filled with Tom’s elegant script.

 

_What’s happening?_

_I can feel your fear, Hermione what’s going on!_

_I can’t leave the diary, please tell me that you’re alright!_

Hermione stroked her hand over the page, and gently put her quill to the paper. **‘Tom, first I’m all right at least physically. The World Cup was attacked by Death Eaters, supporters of Lord Voldemort and something horrible happened. Harry was murdered and I was obliviated. They think I saw the murder, but why would they have left me alive? It makes no sense! The Death Eaters were blood purists, there’s no reason they would have left me alive.’**

_Some wizards have qualms about harming witches, an old cultural quirk that I am eternally grateful for at this moment. I’m so sorry about Harry, I know how much he meant to you. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now. I was so frightened that something had happened to you, I could feel your terror and your pain. Merlin, I wanted so badly to be there to save you. Where are you now?_

**‘I’m staying at the Burrow. The Weasley’s have invited me to stay, so that I’m amongst friends and…for the funeral.’** A few tear drops stained the pages of the Diary. **‘It all feels like a horrible dream, and I just don’t know what to do now.’**

_One day at a time, Hermione. That is all we can do when we lose someone we care about. I’ll always be here for you, I swear it. Try and get some rest, it will do you a world of good. In time the ache will ease, but I know that is cold comfort now. Anything you need, please just ask it of me._

**‘Thank you, Tom. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’**

**o.o.O.o.o**

**August 30 th, 1994**

 

The graveyard in Godric’s Hollow was a somber place, and Hermione stood between the twins as the Headmaster delivered the eulogy. She felt empty, like all of her insides had been carved out and there was just empty space there now. He’d been her best friend, her first real friend. It wasn’t fair that he was gone, lost in some senseless act of violence in the name of a dead Dark Lord. Vaguely, she was aware that the funeral was over, but she roused herself and looked at the Weasleys.

 

“I just need a minute alone, please,” she said and was eternally grateful as they walked away. Hermione walked up to the edge of the fresh earth, and she laid her hand on the smooth marble of the tombstone. “I’m so sorry…I should have done something to save you.”

 

“Ah, Miss Granger.” The Headmaster came over, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Such a sad business, this. I am grateful, however, that you were not hurt.”

 

“I just wish I could remember who did this…or why.” She felt fresh tears falling from her eyes, stinging the raw patches on her skin from her fits of sobbing.

 

“From what I’ve been told, the person who obliviated you knew what they were doing. Not even the greatest mind can stand against that kind of magic, you are not to blame. However, if you do remembered something, anything at all…I would ask you to come to me with it,” he said.

 

“Of course.” She whispered.

 

“I will leave you to say your goodbyes.” He withdrew his hand and walked away, leaving the young witch kneeling in the grass beside her friend’s grave.

 

**o.o.O.o.o**

**August 30 th, 1994**

 

Tom’s lip curled in disgust as he strode along a path he had walked once as a sixteen year old boy, the night he’d confronted his muggle father and obliterated every trace of that pathetic man from the face of the earth. That his other self was hiding here sickened him. He should have burnt it to the ground ages ago, he might still. That thought brought a wicked grin to his lips as he slipped inside. He cast a silencing spell on his feet, finding that Hermione’s wand responded to him more than adequately. The trace had been child’s play to break and the vinewood wand had surprising subtlety to its magic.

 

The dry sound of scales slithering over wood caught his attention, and he smiled as Nagini appeared. He felt the familiar pulse of magic from the creature and he knelt, extending his hand as she pressed up into his touch.

 

“I’ve missed you, my beauty.” The parsletongue fell from his lips without conscious thought. He’d found her egg suspended magically in one of the many rooms inside the Chamber of Secrets. It warmed his heart to know she was still alive. “Do you remember me?”

 

“Young master, yet not…the same…yet not…” the serpent seemed confused, but brushed against him the way she had as a hatchling.

 

“I am the same, just frozen in time. Where is the other me?” he asked, rubbing the scales under her chin.

 

“With the two wizards, above. The one smells of rats, of vermin and rotting things, the other of sickness and desperation. Trust neither…” the serpent coiled around his wrist for a moment, an old show of affection.

 

“Hide yourself, my beauty…I must put some things to rights.” He stood and moved upwards, wand at the ready and prepared for anything he might find. The sight of a grotesque skeletal thing in the chair was nearly enough to turn his stomach, and he cast an instinctive shielding charm that deflected a pair of curses hurled at him. He attacked viciously in return, stunning the obese, balding man and incapacitating the leaner wizard.

 

“How….” The skeletal creature rasped, its eyes wide.

 

“Someone stumbled over the Diary not quite two years ago. It has been a slow return to power, but a rewarding one,” he replied, dark eyes glittering. “I’m afraid that I can’t allow you to leave this place alive. There was never room in this world for two of us and it’s rather clear who’s better poised to conquer now.” Tom sneered at the twisted figure. Everything about the creature disgusted him, how in the name of Salazar had he fallen so wretchedly low?

 

“I forbid it!” Voldemort rasped.

 

“Sadly, you have no control over me, and I am the larger portion of the soul.” He flicked his wand at the other piece of himself and whispered the incantation to absorb the fragment of soul in the battered little body. Clearly splitting himself so thin had resulted in unforeseen consequences. It was not a mistake he would be repeating. The flicker of magic that had sustained the creature was hardly worth the effort, and he destroyed what little remained.

 

The two wizards that lay on the ground needed further consideration. Peter Pettigrew was the logical choice to frame for the murder of Harry Potter. He had betrayed the boy’s parents and no one would have any difficulty believing he had also murdered the boy. Near the man’s hand lay his wand…the one he’d purchased at Ollivander’s as a boy. He tucked Hermione’s away and picked up the piece of yew, shuddering at the feel of power and familiarity that rushed through him. Planting Hermione’s wand on Pettigrew and sending him into the Ministry would tie up the loose ends neatly. It would be child’s play to imperius the man into some ill-considered attack on an Auror. He’d be killed and there would be no further questions asked about the death of the Boy-Who-Lived-No-More. At least, no official ones.

 

“And who are you?” Tom relaxed his spell on the other man enough to let him speak.

 

“Barty Crouch,” he said. “What have you done to our Lord?”

 

“I am your Lord, that was a pale reflection,” Tom said, playing the wand through his fingers. “You will submit to me, or I will kill you. It is a simple choice.” There was a gleam of fanaticism in the man’s eyes that Tom didn’t trust…perhaps it would be better to simply kill him.

 

“I don’t believe you, you murdered my Lord!” Barty spat and struggled.

 

Tom cast a killing curse casually, ridding himself of the issue all together. He turned to the other man and smiled darkly, turning his wand on him and beginning to weave a set of memories that would be believable, in the unlikely event he was taken alive. He’d murdered Potter to avenge the Dark Lord, and then intended to assault the girl. People had been coming and in a panic he had obliviated her and run. He would attack the Ministry, to stir the old supporters of the Dark Lord to take up the fight again. Yes…it would be perfect.

 

TBC


End file.
